Her Grave In My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 06 04

After I turn back at shiver of fear,
when shadow from the angel of death looms
cold as dark thunderclouds blotting the sun,
Death turns into small stone angel with wings
past which small kitten with fierce dragon eyes
prances boldly toward me on hell-bent paws.

As I kneel down in cemetery grass
to pet the kitten with green dragon eyes
I ponder weird question of origins
embodied by the stone on the sea shore
where girls veiled by rain dig oysters and clams
while they sing in rhythm with sunlit waves.

Balanced on tip of the slow-spinning world,
contained by structure of cerulean skies,
I hesitate to reveal secret dreams
in which the world crumbles into weird words,
though I arrange syllables of cold hours
with absolute assurance of the truth.

Because the ever-flowing stream of time
illuminates strange concepts of my mind,
I adjust dark melancholy of fate
to awaken divine consciousness of self
from sloughing agony of wretched pain
through clarity of language I design.

Drowsy with innocent naivete
that crouches on the stone in mute toad form,
I measure strict vibration of despair
contained within minute eye of the sun
that gleams gold above horizon of hope
while silver waves erode the rocky shore.

When Death knocks on my mirrored chamber door
the star-eyed Angel of Hope shields my heart
from agony that millions of souls suffer
though I hear shriek of their desperate prayers
in songs of birds that flit in apple trees
while people drive cars on highways of fear.

Her voice shimmers in shadow of the cloud,
floating over harbor of broken ships,
which darkens roofs of houses full of ghosts,
and cools blank stone of her grave in my heart
slowly moving across immobile hills
while the sparrow flies at the window sky.

The stone angel with wings in dew-wet grass
in cheerful cemetery by the sea
watches me with moon-black eyes of respect
while I consume and create surreal dreams,
because if I look away from her face
Death will transform from mute stone and attack.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus stares at the small stone angel with wings at the grave of Minerva for ten thousand years, hoping Death would be stayed by knowledge.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism